


Just Like Makeup

by theloserwholoved



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, chris evans rpf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloserwholoved/pseuds/theloserwholoved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship-y type of one shot? Rated teen for language and mentions of mental illness (anxiety).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Makeup

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so basically, this is the first piece of writing I have ever done that wasn't for a grade. It's not perfect and I know that. That being said, I had this idea in my head for a long time after hearing about Chris's struggles with anxiety, which is something I struggle with as well, and I needed to get it out of my system.

I may have the best job in the world. I am a makeup artist. I don’t work on any big celebrities or anything; I just started this a few months ago. So far, I’ve met some really interesting people and most of the time they’re really nice; making small talk with me or smiling at me (as much as they can anyways; it’s hard to carry on a conversation when someone’s messing around with your face).  
But when someone asks me the best part of my job is, I tell them it’s the pay(which isn’t too shabby). The truth is I’m not being totally honest. It's the connection. In a weird way, I feel like I have this intimacy with whoever is in my makeup chair that no one else has. Actors and extras come to me groggy and sleepy and with bed head, and I think to myself that only people they love-spouses, children, close friends-have seen them like this. And now I have too. It seriously makes me feel warm inside thinking about it. Like I’m middle school girl sharing secrets with my friends. I can never tell anyone without sounding totally creepy, though, even if it makes me feel so happy. So when I am asked, I have to make an effort to convincingly say it’s the money. Always faking it by relaxing my face and making a half-frown with my lips. It’s like putting on makeup.  
But sometimes work can get intimidating. Looking directly into the eyes of someone I don’t know while I smear stuff on their faces can get a little awkward for me. Sometimes I keep eye contact too long and it makes me super nervous. Sometimes I need to apply eyeliner and I have to get WAY TOO close to their faces and I get all self-conscious about my face and my breath and my hand starts to shake and I sweat and that gets stressful. But the worst part is that this job demands perfection and sometimes I make mistakes and it makes me want to cry and when I cry I can’t stop and I worry that I’ll be yelled at or worse, fired and I get even MORE hysterical and I start thinking about how I’m ‘so terribly out of my league and why did I leave school to do this job I suck at’. It’s a slippery slope of scary thoughts that I can’t stop. Anxiety is like that. A little monster always on your shoulder saying over and over again that you are not good enough; that you will never be good enough.  
I’ve found that on bad days, I can cover it up. I can self–soothe, and do my best to convince myself it’s just the monster talking. I can hide him under a face painted with lies just to make him look less menacing. Just like makeup. But despite my best efforts, sometimes I can’t do anything and I just completely lose my shit. Today is one of those days.  
Today, I am crying my eyes out on the roof of a warehouse on set during my lunch break. Today I spilled coffee on one guy and accidentally stabbed another in the eye with an eyeliner brush, earning a stern reprimand from my department head. Today I am giving into the little monster on my shoulder that says “you are trash and you should quit”. It is here, during what is not exactly my proudest moment, that I realize I am not alone. There, standing ten feet from me is Chris Evans.  
Shit. I knew he was in the movie but I’d never actually seen him. I immediately stop my sobbing as the realization that the celebrity crush of my late teens is not only standing in front of me, but dangerously close to discovering me in my loathsome state of post-crying ugliness. Shit, Shit, SHIT.  
He looks like he’s on the phone with someone. Good, maybe I can sneak away and he won’t notice. I very slowly and very awkwardly start moving to the exit. I’m sure at this point I look like an injured crab shuffling in slow-motion. An injured shuffling crab with enormous mascara streaks down her entire face. It takes me all of three seconds to realize he is now pacing around. I freeze. “  
Fine. I can wait till he’s done”, I think to myself. And then he sits down, cross legged on the ground, and PULLS OUT A SANDWHICH, which I can only assume is lunch, and I realize that I’m going to be here a lot longer than I thought. A wave of embarrassment hits me as I start to remember all of those pictures of Chris that I reblogged on my dorky tumblr years ago. I remember how they were all tagged as “the bae” and how I would joke with my friends that I would stop at nothing to marry him. Wow, cringe worthy or what. And then I realize that this is actually a little bit hilarious. Here I am, an awkward former-fangirl hiding from arguably one of the most beautiful male specimens on the planet. Oh, the bad fan fiction I could have written. I giggle softly to myself. And then, just when I’m beginning to feel better about this whole situation, it happens.  
At the worst possible moment, I sneeze. Loudly and suddenly. And I wish could just die. Because he heard it, and now he’s looking around to find the source of the noise. It’s a matter of seconds before he spots me. We make eye contact. He looks at me the way I would look at my younger brother while he’s sticking something up his nose: puzzled yet oddly amused. He gets up and strolls over to me. At this point I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of a clean getaway and resign myself to get through the inevitable conversation that’s about to happen. I silently pray I don’t look as awful as I think I do.  
I am now face to face with freaking Chris Evans.  
“Hey, so…are you, you know, ok?”, he asks. God, he’s so handsome up close. I feel my face turn super red. 

“Um, yeah, you know, just…hangin’ out.”

“Hanging out. On the roof all alone?” He smiles a bit. I think he feels bad for me. 

“Y-yeah, you know. Lunch break and all that”. I mentally facepalm at my stunning conversation skills.

He chuckles softly. And then my stomach growls. Agressively. Wonderful. More body noises. This is just getting better and better. 

“Have you even eaten yet? I’ve still got half a sandwich left.” He just offered me his leftovers. All my adolescent feelings come bubbling back into my chest and I feel my heart beat faster. There’s no way I can respond to this like a normal person so I just nod. He smiles wider now, showing a bit of white, sparkly teeth. 

I take the other half of his turkey-and-cheese, careful not to seem to eager. It’s true, I am starving, but all I can think about is how I am about to put my mouth on something that he also put his mouth on and by anime rules, that’s pretty much an indirect kiss. I realize that he has noticed that I am having an intense staring contest with a sandwich and in an attempt to save myself from even FURTHER embarrassment, I take an enormous bite. 

 

“Is it good?”, he asks. He looks less worried and more amused now. 

I nod again. 

“Are you just going to keep nodding?” 

I swallow the mouthful and manage a “No.”

He sits down next to me. I finish the sandwich. 

I try to make me voice sounds less shaky. “Th-thanks for lunch.”, I squeak out. 

“You’re welcome.” He flashes a full, toothy smile. Man, he has nice teeth. 

“Man, you have nice teeth.”. Shit. Did I say that out loud??!!

He smiles even wider and stifles a laugh, as if he knows I didn’t mean to say that. 

“Do you work in costumes?”, he asks.

“Makeup.” I reply. Makeup. Oh shit, my makeup. I pull out my phone and use the camera to check my face. Just as I feared, my eyes and nose a red, my cheeks are puffy and my mascara has run down my face. Lovely.  
For a minute I forget where I am and in total disgust, mutter “Oh God, it’s worse than I thought. I look like a depressed panda.". A soft chuckle brings me back to reality. 

“Rough day today?”

I might as well tell him. “You could say that.” I take a deep breath and begin to explain what happened. 

“I spilled coffee on someone in my chair this morning and then stabbed another in the eye on accident and then I got yelled at, and because I am an actual human disaster, I had come up here and have an anxiety attack privately because crying is bad enough, but crying in front of people is even worse, but then you showed up, and I sneezed too loud and…and I am talking WAY too fast I am sorry.” I drop my head into lap. This is too weird.  
Now I’m aware that he’s waiting for me to finish. I take another deep breath.  
“Basically what I am trying to say is my Anxiety flares up sometimes and I can’t always manage it.” I cringe. Admitting that I can’t control my own brain makes me feel sick. Then, I feel a hand on my shoulder. 

“Hey, I get that. Sometimes I feel the same way.”

What. This was not the response I thought I would get. I turn to look at him. I can’t hide the expression of “Huh?” that’s on my face. 

“Yeah. I’ve had problems with anxiety too.”

I suddenly feel brave. It’s not everyday you meet someone who understands, and when you do, the thing you want most is to talk to them about it.  
“Yeah, and like, I realize that everyone makes mistakes and that I am really blessed and fortunate to have the life I have, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just wasting my time and start to think that maybe I have no talent in this and that one day I’m going to wake up and realize that I hate this, and that I have no other skills and I’m going to unhappy forever. I dropped out of college for this. This is all I have and I’m not sure I want to do it anymore but I have to fake it, partly because I don’t want to seem ungrateful and partly because some part of me thinks that if I try hard enough, maybe I can change my own mind. I essentially have to put makeup on my soul. And it’s exhausting. ” The words just seem to spill out.  
He nods in agreement. “It’s almost like you’re tied to something you hate and still have to pretend you don’t.” I start to remember an article I read way back in my tumblr era about Chris and his work-related anxieties. “And the worst part is, it makes you feel guilty because here you are, doing what thousands of people wish they could do, and yet you still aren’t satisfied”.  
He’s right. The guilt is the worst part. This conversation is getting a little heavy, and as much as I’m sure pouring out my soul to my teenage love is some sort of wish-fulfillment fantasy, I realize that lunch is almost over and we both need to get back to work. So I make a joke. 

“Ah, guilt. The gift that keeps on giving.”

He laughs a little. “Yup”. He looks at his phone to check the time. “Lunch is almost over”, he says. He extends a hand to me and it takes me a minute to realize that’s he’s trying to help me up. I take it, and with very little effort, he pulls me to my feet. If I wasn’t star struck before, I definitely am now. We walk silently together out the door and down the stairs. I remember I am still a hot mess, and start hurrying to get back the makeup trailer. Maybe I can clean my face up a bit before break is over. At the same time, I don’t really want to go back to work. I want to sit and talk to Chris some more. My inner fan girl is basically going crazy, and as I turn the corner back to the makeup trailer, I am silently wishing he’d walk the rest of the way with me. ( I blame shojo anime) He doesn’t though. But he does wave at me when we part ways.  
The remaining weeks of filming breeze by without too much incident. I go to the roof everyday on my lunch break hoping to maybe talk to Chris again. I don’t. But I do see him every now and then, either walking off set or in line for food at the catering tent. We don’t talk, but we wave or smile at each other. Then filming wraps, and the job is over.  
On the last day, he comes to visit me in the makeup trailer. It’s just small talk and bad jokes, but at the end of our conversation, he says “Hey, if you ever need someone to talk to, you can email me or something.” And he hands me a napkin with an email address hand written on it. “Ok.” I reply weakly.  
As he’s walking out the door he gives me one last toothy grin before turning away. And then he’s gone. The napkin sits in my pocket for weeks before I find it again. Once or twice I’m tempted to actually send him an email, but I never do. He’s probably forgotten all about it by now. 

Three months later, and I take my mom the see the movie so she can see her daughter’s name in the credits. As we’re standing in line, I can’t help but look at the poster for a while. It’s a very heroic looking shot of Chris’ character. I stifle a laugh, remembering that day on the roof, and my mom catches me. She asks me if I got to meet him. I decide to tell her no. I don’t really want her to know what happened. Sure it’s stupid, and I only talked to him once, but it’s like I have a sweet little secret only I know. But it’s hard to keep straight face and lie convincingly to my own mother. Still, I manage to put on a somber face. So I relax my brows and make a conscious effort to keep my mouth from grinning. It’s just like putting on makeup.


End file.
